Thursday, September 2, 2004
Today has been a punk day for both of us.
We both arose late. I arose at 0952, Mom about an hour after me. Neither of us had much energy. After breakfast we played a little Sorry, talked about our trip to Mesa tomorrow then Mom decided to take a nap. I didn't stop her because I had the same plan. We both slept through most of the afternoon. I slept extremely hard. I awoke in a sweat feeling somewhat better than I've felt in several days. I'm still a little tired but relaxed and in somewhat better humor than I've lately been.
When I awoke Mom was already up, sitting at the dining room table playing with the magnetic poetry set I gave her as a "Welcome Home from the SNF" gift, arranging and rearranging words. She said she'd been up for about half an hour but, well, who knows. She could have been up much longer than that. Every recent time lapse for her is now either "oh, about 10 minutes" or "oh, about a half hour". I'm sure it was at least half an hour.
I meant to mention last night that yesterday, twice, she remembered that she "is" a smoker. The first memory was while we were playing Sorry, which used to be one of her prime smoking periods. I wasn't surprised by the timing of this first recall, only that it happened. The second didn't surprise me on either the timing or occurrence levels. I was expecting it. It happened at the courthouse square, which the denizens of the surrounding businesses use as a smoking lounge during the day. She passed several smokers before the recall hit her. I'm sure it was the smell of the cigarette smoke. Both times when she asked me for a cigarette I told her that she no longer smoked and we didn't have any cigarettes. Although she gritted her teeth both times she seemed satisfied and smoking was not mentioned again. Luckily, I didn't need to go into the song and dance about why she no longer smoked.
No exercises and no walkering today. It just didn't seem like a day for either of us to do anything but seriously pursue rest.
Tonight's a quiet night. She's very involved in watching Jeremiah Johnson. I'm fooling around playing with template design for the online therapy exercise journal, thinking all the time that I should probably start the food journal before I begin yet another segment. My ambition for my reporting on my mother overreaches the time I have available to me to report and write, despite my speed at both.
Back to designing.
Later.
When I awoke Mom was already up, sitting at the dining room table playing with the magnetic poetry set I gave her as a "Welcome Home from the SNF" gift, arranging and rearranging words. She said she'd been up for about half an hour but, well, who knows. She could have been up much longer than that. Every recent time lapse for her is now either "oh, about 10 minutes" or "oh, about a half hour". I'm sure it was at least half an hour.
I meant to mention last night that yesterday, twice, she remembered that she "is" a smoker. The first memory was while we were playing Sorry, which used to be one of her prime smoking periods. I wasn't surprised by the timing of this first recall, only that it happened. The second didn't surprise me on either the timing or occurrence levels. I was expecting it. It happened at the courthouse square, which the denizens of the surrounding businesses use as a smoking lounge during the day. She passed several smokers before the recall hit her. I'm sure it was the smell of the cigarette smoke. Both times when she asked me for a cigarette I told her that she no longer smoked and we didn't have any cigarettes. Although she gritted her teeth both times she seemed satisfied and smoking was not mentioned again. Luckily, I didn't need to go into the song and dance about why she no longer smoked.
No exercises and no walkering today. It just didn't seem like a day for either of us to do anything but seriously pursue rest.
Tonight's a quiet night. She's very involved in watching Jeremiah Johnson. I'm fooling around playing with template design for the online therapy exercise journal, thinking all the time that I should probably start the food journal before I begin yet another segment. My ambition for my reporting on my mother overreaches the time I have available to me to report and write, despite my speed at both.
Back to designing.
Later.
